Strange Company
by ShadeShifter
Summary: Finding Home 4. Or 5 times the BAU thought there was something seriously hinky about DiNozzo's team and one time Aaron Hotchner knew exactly what was going on. Includes Supernatural, Angel and Highlander.


**David Rossi** wasn't sure what to make of Lindsey McDonald, or the rest of his team for that matter. He hadn't really had much opportunity to encounter them before, but he did know that Hotch was dating the SSA and it seemed to be doing him some good.

McDonald nodded to Garcia, his charming smile making her smile back, and she started the presentation. Rossi was uncomfortably reminded that some of the most charming people throughout history had been serial killers.

"There have been three murders so far," McDonald told them. "We got called in on the second case, but weren't able to piece together anything conclusive. By the third we realised it was a serial killer and figured it would be better off in your hands."

There was some obfuscation there, Rossi was sure, but he wasn't entirely sure what about.  
Garcia flicked through the images of the first murders quickly before finally settling on the third set. McDonald grimaced when she finally settled on an image of the ritualistic setup of the crime scene.

"They're amateurs. Worse than. They have less than no idea what they're doing," McDonald said.

"What makes you think that?" Derek asked, steel beneath his words and Rossi knew he was as disconcerted by McDonald as Rossi was. Rossi couldn't help but notice that way McDonald instinctively tensed at being challenged, ready for conflict, and wondered how on Earth DiNozzo managed to work with him in a team. McDonald wasn't a team player by anyone's estimation, none of them were from what little Rossi had seen, but somehow they seemed to work.

"The circle's all wrong. The unsub used hieroglyphs and alchemical symbols when he really should have been using ancient Sumerian pictographs. The time of year is wrong for the kind of power he wants to draw on. I think that's a fertility idol," McDonald added, pointing at a statuette in the background. "And, if you really wanted to drain a body of blood, that is not the quickest or most efficient way of going about it."

"There's never been a proven case of Satanic ritual sacrifice," Reid said with a glance at Rossi, acknowledging his contribution to the field. Rossi nodded briefly back.

"No," McDonald said with a small, almost proud smile that sent off warning bells in Rossi's head.

McDonald didn't wear a tie and the top button of his shirt was undone, so when he brushed his hair back behind his ear, Rossi caught sight of a curved letter in some sort of script he didn't immediately recognise curling along the base of McDonald's neck. It took him a moment to go back in his memory to his days of investigating potential cult cases back in the 80s before he recognised it as Enochian.

It wasn't the sort of tattoo you got on a whim or because you were drunk. It was the sort of thing that had to be painstakingly researched and, when put together with everything else, Rossi wondered exactly who this man was and what precisely was his interest in ritualistic murders.

...

**Spencer Reid** was a little surprised, and a little cautious, when he ended up stuck in line in front of Dean Winchester at the local coffee shop. They'd all heard the rumours about him. It was a bit difficult not to when one of their own had spent years tracking Dean Winchester for murder and bank robbery, among other things, and yet here the man was, working with them.

"Hi," Reid said, turning around to look Winchester, because he felt it wouldn't be polite not to. Winchester narrowed his eyes briefly, assessing Reid. "I'm an agent, too," he elaborated, in case Winchester didn't recognise him.

"Hi," Winchester said, already dismissing him. Busy, Reid's brain told him, distracted. It was all there in the taut body language and the restless eyes. It must have been a fairly intensive case, especially given Hotch's occasionally worried frown the last few days when their own caseload was surprisingly light.

"You know," Reid said, because he always felt a little flustered when confronted with people like Winchester, or Derek, or Hotch – good looking and self-assured in ways Reid would never be – in new or unexpected situations. "According to legend, the properties of coffee were only discovered by a 9th century Ethopian goatherd when he noticed his goats behaving oddly after consuming a coffee plant."

"Really," Winchester drawled, turning his attention back to Reid and smiling a little indulgently before his gaze turned distant and sad. Clearly, Reid reminded him of someone; a younger family member, perhaps. Someone he'd lost.

"Of course, they also believe in a bisexual dog-wolf that can speak with the voices of men to lure them out and devour them," Reid said with a shrug.

"Crocotta," Dean said absently, frowning as though remembering something he'd rather not. "As brave as a lion, as swift as a horse, and as strong as a bull," he quoted and Reid realised it was a direct translation of Photius's summary of Indica.

"Yes," he said, a little astonished despite himself. "Exactly."

Reid considered all that he'd heard about Winchester and his team and, though he'd previously dismissed it, wondered if they believed it was all true. It was a little worrying to think that, to think the FBI as a whole was indulging those ideas.

"Why did you join the FBI?" Reid asked before he could stop himself. Winchester's eyes narrowed again before he shrugged.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," he said with a bright smile that Reid was sure was supposed to detract from the intelligence in his eyes. "Besides, the pay's better."

It was all a lie, Reid could tell that much, but he didn't know why, or what the real truth was. Dean Winchester was absolutely confounding. He opened his mouth to continue his questioning when Winchester interrupted him with a vague gesture behind Reid.

"Looks like your order's up," Winchester said with a smile that Reid was surprised to see was genuinely friendly. He found himself smiling back. "Nice meeting you, kid."

"Yeah," Reid said, still feeling a little dazed by the whole encounter, but truthfully none-the-less. "You, too."

...

**Derek Morgan** had given chase before he even realised what he was doing, instinct just taking over. He was already halfway down the block when he realised it was Baines who was chasing after the suspect.

He wasn't sure what to think of him or the rest of the team. He didn't like the way DiNozzo had wormed his way into Hotch's life and screwed whatever chances Hotch might have had at promotion. Derek still didn't know what his game was.

Derek ducked behind a pillar when shots were fired in their direction, but Baines didn't even seem to notice. He would have considered Baines had a death wish, but Baines seemed far too involved in experiencing every aspect of life. Almost desperate about it, actually, now that Derek thought about it. That sort of hunger for life only came after some sort of catalysing experience, often traumatic.

He took off again after Baines, more than a little worried now, because whatever he felt about the man and his team, they were agents and that meant something. Baines was more than a block ahead of him now and he put on an extra burst of speed trying to close the gap.

There was a screech of a car and Baines was flung across the hood of the car and then rolled to the ground when the car stopped, so that he lay limply on the tarmac. Derek sprinted toward him, already yelling for someone to call an ambulance, when Baines rolled over with a groan and climbed to his feet.

"If you think I'm giving up now," Baines muttered as he took off again, leaving Derek to stare after him, jaw dropped in shock. He'd seen enough crime scenes, even enough car accidents when he'd been with the police, to know that Baines shouldn't be up and running after that impact. Probably shouldn't even be alive.

Derek quickly pulled himself together and followed after him again, catching up just as Baines tackled the suspect and wrenched his arms behind his back before the man had any idea what had happened to him. When Baines looked up, he was grinning, wild and free and so alive, and something in Derek trembled.

**...**

**Penelope Garcia** was walking quickly to her car – she knew just enough to be cautious of walking alone through any car park at two in the morning, even if it was the FBI one – when she heard the soft murmuring of voices. She slowed, not wanting to draw too much attention to the loud clacking of her heels on the concrete.

She glanced in the direction of the voices and stopped. In front of one of the most gorgeous cars she had ever seen, were Winchester and a shorter man with whom she was not familiar. He didn't seem to be an agent and she was sure she'd have remembered the scruffy appearance and large coat.

He leaned in close to Winchester, right in his space, and from what she'd seen Winchester was usually fairly defensive about his space. Offensive at times, since a few agents had been put down quickly when they'd tried to give him trouble. Yet, this man didn't seem to consider it a perilous pursuit.

What surprised her even more was that Winchester allowed it, even smiled fondly at the man, though it was wiped away quickly when the man looked up at him. The man was all earnest intensity when his eyes met Winchester's and there was clearly some sort of tangled history there between them.

Whatever the man said made Winchester laugh and he clapped him on the shoulder, his hand lingering in ways that made Garcia all kinds of disappointed. The shorter man smiled a little in return.

There was a rustling sound and then the shorter man was gone. Not leaving. Not walking away. Just gone. Vanished. Winchester rolled his eyes like it happened every day.

**...**

**JJ Jareau** wasn't sure how she'd got herself into this situation. The team had been at a bar, celebrating after closing a case, and she didn't know how it happened, should have known better, but she'd been isolated from the group and cornered.

The man had been hitting on her all night, not taking no for an answer, not even the fact that she was married. She rather lamented the fact that she didn't have her gun with her, but that might have been a good thing, since she'd had a few drinks. Derek had volunteered to drive them home, so she hadn't been too worried about it.

"I'm not interested," she told him firmly. It would work for most guys, but clearly he just wasn't getting the message.

"Come on now," the man said, sidling closer. "Don't play hard to get."

"I don't think you want to do that," Baines said, coming up behind him. His tone was nonchalant, but there was something dangerous in the glint of his eye and the angle of his stance. JJ had seen it before, in unsubs. The man hesitated a moment before squaring himself. JJ almost felt sorry for him.

"Who are you? Her boyfriend?" the man sneered.

"No," Baines answered easily. "Just someone who thinks you're an asshole."

Baines leaned in closer and whispered something to the man, who paled and backed away, while Baines looked smug and just a little vindictive. JJ shivered at the cold chill down her spine.

"And if you think that's bad, wait until I get creative," Baines said. The man turned and left quickly.

She wasn't sure what to think, because sometimes maladaptive impulses could be used in adaptive ways, and while she might appreciate the results, that didn't mean she wanted to spend any more time with Baines than necessary.

"You okay?" he asked, turning to look at her again, nothing but polite interest on his face.

"Yeah," she said. Scarier things happened to her on the job and she could handle herself.

"Got a ride home?"

She nodded and wondered if she should revise her prognosis to dissociative identities.

**...**

**Aaron Hotchner** watched fondly as Tony stretched and rubbed at tired eyes. He didn't think he'd ever met anyone who worked more than him, but he thought Tony might actually beat him in the workaholic department.

He'd already checked on Jack, who was sleeping soundly down the hall. Despite his initial protests, Tony got along well with Jack and Jack seemed to adore him, so on nights when Aaron was caught up at the office and Tony's caseload wasn't too heavy, Tony would sometimes watch him for Aaron and then spend the night. Aaron had to admit that sometimes he was tempted to find some rather flimsy excuses to get caught up.

He came up behind Tony and slid a hand along Tony's shoulder to settle at the base of his neck and Tony leaned into his touch.

"What time is it?" Tony asked.

"Almost 1:00."

"You get your case wrapped up?" Tony asked, eyes drifting closed as Aaron stroked fingers through his hair.

"Yes. How about your case? How's it going?"

"Hit a bit of a block. Thought I'd look it over before bed, see if I could think of a new angle. Guess I got a bit engrossed."

"Guess so," Aaron agreed with a hint of a smile. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Not really. There isn't really much to go on, yet," Tony said, beginning to haphazardly gather the papers strewn across the desk and shove them back into the folder. Aaron knew the reputation Tony and his team had, knew the kinds of cases they took, but Tony always tried his hardest to hide them from him.

One piece drifted free from the rest and fell to the floor where Aaron picked it up. He scanned over the information, not entirely surprised by what he found, though a little curious at the level of detail.

"You're dealing with a ghost?" he asked. Tony tensed under his touch and pulled away, not looking at Aaron at all. Aaron let him go despite wanting to hold on to him all that much tighter, wanting to pin him down and make him answer so it was all out in the open. Tony didn't do very well with out in the open. "Okay."

"That's it?" Tony demanded, sounding almost angry, but Aaron knew most of that was fear. "You find out my lead suspect is a ghost and don't think I'm delusional at the very least and psychotic at the worst?"

"No."

"What is wrong with you?" Tony asked, incredulous. Aaron moved forward then and slid his hands to cup Tony's jaw, making sure their eyes were locked.

"I believe you."

"Why?" Tony asked, looking shaken and vulnerable.

"Because you believe it."

Aaron was a profiler and usually he didn't have a problem explaining what that meant to Tony, who used many of the same methods, albeit a little more intuitively, to narrow down his own theories. It only became a problem when Aaron used those same techniques on Tony and Tony's only blind spot seemed to be himself.

"You're not delusional," Aaron told him. "You're one of the most intelligent and intuitive people I know and you believe this, your whole team and the Assistant Director believes this, so I believe you."

The evidence overwhelmingly tipped in Tony's favour and Aaron was not in the habit of ignoring the evidence. Especially not when it was so clear. Besides, you couldn't work unusual and violent crimes for as long as Aaron had without coming across a few things you just couldn't explain.

"I believe you," Aaron repeated and Tony sagged against him, forehead dropping to Aaron's shoulder, and Aaron wrapped his arms tightly around him.

"You're an asshole," Tony said without rancour into the collar of Aaron's jacket.

"Why's that?" Aaron asked with a hint of a smile.

"I spent months worrying how to explain all this to you without sounding like a nut."

"I was trying to give you space to decide what you were going to do," Aaron told him. Because one of the very first things he'd learned about Tony was that he didn't react well to being forced into a corner. The second was that he needed reassurance. It was sometimes a little difficult to balance the two.

"I hate you," Tony muttered.

"I believe you," Aaron said with humour.


End file.
